This week and last I’ve been attempting to host a brief session of some children’s classes in my neighborhood. On a recent day we scrapped original plans and decided to get together at Bass Pond instead, because it was swelteringly hot, suffocatingly humid, and my kid with Lyme disease is happy only when either swimming at the pond or playing with Legos by himself. Unfortunately, we got rained out, but the group remained fairly chipper and tried to huddle together under towels for a while before things got too serious. Once the heavy rain arrived, the towels were not sufficient to keep us dry and we had to relocate onto a small porch. By that time, all the swimmers at the pond had left, apparently thinking that the bad weather would stick around. So we had the pond beach to ourselves for a while.
During that time we had to milk all of our creative resources. My son Paolo turned into the beach tattoo artist, churning out pink and red hearts on upper arms, bright suns, and smiley faces. While he had Stephany as a willing subject he also snuck in a vampire bat on her shoulder. His talents were well admired. We thus discovered yet another activity that he can handle happily while afflicted with Lyme.
While these children’s classes have been fruitful overall, I admit I am glad we are done with another small session, because it takes a lot out of me. Probably more than I feel I can give reasonably right now, in terms of time and energy and psychic space. I feel awful saying so, because the gut feeling I have is “give all that you can” and when I surmise my life, I see a lot of ease and comfort and convenience, and not as much gritty sacrifice. No matter how much I try to let go of comfort and find spaces in life where challenge cuts into me just a little, I will probably always see myself that way—as though I am lazy. I don’t so much want to seek out difficulties all the time, placing them on my own lap, like a puzzle I create and then try to solve myself just for fun. I’d prefer to see if challenges come my direction as a result of making a measurable difference. When working with children, it’s nearly impossible to measure progress in the immediate sense. This is what makes parenting work so hard. Same with children’s activities like these, at a neighborhood level. We have gotten to know a handful of diverse children very well, and they love getting together with all of us—I just don’t know how much of it I have to do myself, versus how much of it others might be able to take on and assist so that I can make sure my own family’s meals get prepared and that I get a little rest some of the time. Somehow I beat up on myself thinking that makes me lazy and selfish.
I have a postcard on my fridge that says, “Coffee! You can sleep when you’re dead!”